Writing Compaigns

Prajnaparamita of Java

Pandian Ramaiah Leave a comment

I wrote about an elegant Nataraja bronze from South India in my previous post. Let’s talk about another artifact from Eastern Java today.

The discovery

By 1818, during the era of European colonization that gripped Southeast Asia, Java was under Dutch colonial rule. There was growing interest in Europe in the archaeological and cultural heritage of their colonies. Officers like Stamford Raffles and Willem Stutterheim made journeys through Java and documented their findings.

Much before Stamford Raffles (why I mention him is because he is a venerated British colonial administrator of the Straits Settlements!), D. Monnereau, a Dutch East Indies official, was likely on an official trip or exploratory mission in the Malang area of Eastern Java.

Within the ruins of Cungkup Putri near the Singhasari temple, he identified (or perhaps looted?) the treasure called Prajnaparamita statue.

Buddhist Goddess and her Javanese connection

Prajnaparamita is considered the Goddess of the Perfection of Wisdom in Mahayana Buddhism. She is worshipped as the mother of all Buddhas. Some say this sculpture is a depiction of the first queen of Singhasari—Ken Dedes (also called Dyah Ayu Sri Maharatu Mahadewi or Nareswari). Ken Dedes herself has a captivating story behind her, but that is not the focus of this post. I will write about it another day.

Based on my readings, this is the Buddhist Goddess Prajnaparamita, but it might have been sculpted with resemblances to Ken Dedes. A few suggest this sculpture might have been erected where Ken Dedes was buried. Others write that it may depict Queen Gayatri, wife of the first king of Majapahit. However, this idea is not widely said due to the place it was found.

(c) the sculptor and wikipedia

Javanese art

This Buddhist mother Goddess was sitting in padmasana, on a padma peetam on top of a minimally decorated square platform. Her face is striking us, with a serene expression with downcast gaze. Her hair is arranged into an decorated crown (jata-makuta).

She is adorned with rich jewelry with beautifully carved necklaces, ear rings that matches with her face. A string of pearl wraps gracefully around her body. A lotus creeper with flower is intertwined in her left arm, holding Prajnaparamita sutra.

We need to talk about the fine-carved details of her Batik Sarong which was skillfully rendered. It provides a look of a sensuous drape of real cloth, depicting the goddess as a queen.

This 126 cm tall statue was made from pale rose volcanic andesite stone and is believed to date back to the 13th century. It is one of the finest sculptures representing Hindu-Buddhist Javanese art forms.

Why don’t you meet her in Google Arts and Culture.

Dutch took it

Later, this treasure was shipped to the Netherlands and displayed at the Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde in Leiden.

The Netherlands, which exerted enormous effort to maintain its colonial rule in Indonesia, later faced protests from Indonesia and international pressure. In 1978, they returned this sculpture to Indonesia as a “gift.” 🙂 This act improved relations between Indonesia and the Netherlands.

Of course, this Javanese mother taught her Javanese children to forgive their colonial rulers.

Reading recommendation –

This post is part of Blogchatter’s WRITE A PAGE A DAY 2025 campaign.

Nataraja of Thiruvarangulam (Delhi Museum)

Pandian Ramaiah 1 Comment

Bronze sculpting is one of the unique skillsets of ancient India. The Dancing Girl bronze from the Harappan civilization is believed to be at least 3,500–4,000 years old.

Over time, this art form reached its peak during the Chola period. Chola bronzes are so exquisite that they have attracted smuggling networks. You may read Idol Thief by Vijay Kumar for more on this topic, but it is not the focus of this post.

One afternoon, my first boss called my colleague and me for a discussion. Thiruvarangulam, a place on the outskirts of Pudukkottai Town in Tamil Nadu, was also part of the discussion. This place is home to a beautiful Shiva temple dedicated to Sri Haratirthesvara. In Tamil, it is called Thiru Aran Kula Nathar.

The main shrine dates back to the 12th century. Around that time, the Chola dynasty had already conquered parts of northern Sumatra, the Khmer Empire was prominent in Angkor, the Srivijaya Empire was ruling the Malay Peninsula (though its dominance was declining), and the Majapahit Kingdom had not yet been established.

My boss mentioned that the temple once housed a stunning bronze statue of Nataraja, the dancing Shiva. This statue is now prominently displayed in the Delhi Museum. He marveled at it, saying it is one of the best Nataraja bronzes ever sculpted—perhaps the second best.

(c) Wikipedia

Nataraja performs his cosmic dance on the dwarf Muyalaka, who is positioned on a padma peetam (lotus pedestal). Nataraja has four hands, two on each side. In his upper right hand, he holds a damaru (udukkai); his lower right hand displays the abhaya mudra (gesture of fearlessness); his upper left hand holds fire; and his lower left hand is in a dancing pose. His legs are elegantly positioned in a dancing stance. The entire balance of the Nataraja bronze rests on his hands and the dancing Muyalaka.

I have yet to visit the museum and see this masterpiece in person. One day, I will go.

Reading recommendation –

This post is part of Blogchatter’s WRITE A PAGE A DAY 2025 campaign.

The Parsis of Singapore | Suna Kanga & Subina Khaneja

Pandian Ramaiah Leave a comment

The book tells us about the Parsi people, who they are, and how they came to live in India, migration of few of them to Singapore. It shares stories about famous Parsis in Singapore and describes different Parsi families living in Singapore and Malaysia.

The book shows how the adopted to Indian culture but still keep up their own tradition.

One of the panels in Zoroastrian museum highlighted this – “In numbers Parsis are beneath contempt, but in contribution, beyond compare!” – M.K. Gandhi. Similarly, within the small society of Singapore, tiny population of Parsis has interesting stories to tell us. Framroz and Pheonix aerated water factory story is something which most of them would be aware. I need to write about it one day.

This coffee-table book explains Parsi culture, how they are involved in the journey of Singapore, and their delicious food in detail.

My first boss used to say, every village will have a story to tell us. Similarly every family has a story to tell either their family or to the society. But the time and money involved in documenting such tales is enormous. From that perspective, the author’s work is commendable.

Written by Suna Kanga and Sabina Khaneja.

Related links:

Labour of love started by late wife comes to life as book on local Parsi community launched

To Buy: Kinokuniya | from author/publisher

To Rent: NLB | MBPJlibrary

Nimitham / நிமித்தம் by S. Ramakrishnan

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Is there anything worse in this world than being rejected and neglected?

Plot

This Tamil novel tells the story of Devaraj, a man who faces challenges because he can’t hear well. Life throws many obstacles his way: sometimes it’s his own insecurities, sometimes it’s bad luck, and sometimes it’s just the way things turn out. A rude teacher at school forces him to quit, and a trip to a sign language school exposes him to the darker side of people. Everywhere he goes, he seems to return home empty-handed or feeling guilty. Back at home, he faces the disappointment of his angry father and frustrated mother. But his friend Ramasubbu stays by his side, encouraging him and helping him find a new path. The story follows Devaraj until he’s 47, leaving the reader wondering if he’ll ever find his place in the world and settle down with a wife.

Compelling Narrative

The interesting thing about this book isn’t just the story, but how it portrays different characters. Each chapter focuses on a different person, or even a few people! “Sumitra” by Kalpatta Narayanan narrates the story in similar approach too. So what makes this style of storytelling so engaging? It’s because we get to see human relationship, behaviour unfold through these characters, some of whom are listed here.

  • Devaraj’s mother
  • Ramasubbu, Devaraj’s childhood friend
  • Devaraj’s father
  • Razak sir, Devaraj’s rude teacher at school
  • Kanthi akka
  • Sreenivasan, the communist leader during emergency period
  • Daniel, The supervisor of the Sign school
  • Naomy, Maid of the Sign school
  • Rajamani, A Gandhian and the proprietor of Gandhi Vilas hotel
  • Man Udaiyar, Devaraj’s Grandfather at Timmalapuram
  • Vairavan Chettiar, Timmalapuram and his 2nd wife BhuvanSri from Penang
  • Sudharsanam sir and teacher
  • Thambaiyah from Vandipettai
  • Veppankulam Reddiar
  • Sangunni Pandaram
  • Perumal Nayakar and Manga
  • Gopal ayyar, owner of Gopalar Canteen at Vandipettai
  • Kesava Reddy, commission broker at Vandipettai
  • Joseph, printer training batch mate at Tuticorin
  • Grace Ammal, oldie at Sangu Thurai, native of above said Joseph.
  • Savari Muthu, the rationalist
  • Joslyn, Devraj’s first lover
  • The Sri Lankan refugees
  • The unnamed lady at Madurai town bus
  • Saveetha, coworker at Khadi shop at Ooty
  • Dr Balaiya, Mrs Balaiya, son Prabu, maid Subbamma
  • Pulenthiran, the passerby during new year
  • Valli Aachi and Meena Aachi from Chettinad
  • Guna, the assistant boy at Kaashi
  • Hemavathy, the spirit at Kaashi
  • Sadhu Siddhalingam
  • Devaraj’s brother and sister-in-law
  • Chakarapani, the scammer at Meenatchi Chit fund
  • Sivasu, the late married man

It feels almost like reading a collection of blog posts, each one revealing a different perspective on the story.

Emotional Depth

Many of us get discouraged when we keep failing. We try our best, but come home empty-handed or feeling ashamed. Ideally, eventually one of those attempts pays off, and things take off. But what if that breakthrough never comes? The constant disappointment can drain your energy and make it hard to keep trying. It’s like being trapped in a cycle of negativity, and it’s tough to break free. Very few stays energized and continue their hunt. Nimitham delves into profound such human emotions.

I liked all the chapters, to name a few, –

  1. There’s a particularly interesting chapter titled “கனவுகளும் வளர்கின்றன / Kaṉavukaḷum vaḷarkiṉṟaṉa” (which literally translates to “Dreams Grow”). It dives into Devaraj’s nightmare. It brings out a gambler who gambles against himself. This reminded me of a similar concept in “Venmurasu” by Jeyamohan, where characters like Draupadi or Yudhisthira gamble against themselves. I’ve even tried it myself, but it never seems to work out! Gambling against yourself requires a unique skillset. But it is a strong metaphor. It fits into the narrative of Devaraj’s life gambling against himself. It’s a very thought-provoking chapter!
  2. There’s another great chapter called “The World of Vandipettai” (வண்டிப்பேட்டை எனும் உலகம் / Vaṇṭippēṭṭai eṉum ulakam), which focuses on the bustling Vandipettai cotton market. It introduces us to a bunch of fascinating characters, like ‘well maintainer’ Thambaiya, ‘Penang’ BhuvanSri, ‘Efficient housewife’ Manga, ‘Gopallar canteen’ Gopal Ayyar, and ‘Commission Broker’ Kesava Reddy. The author makes a great point: every place has its own story, whether it’s the village you grew up in, the temple you visit, or even the tree where you used to play. And when someone tells the story of a place, it leaves a lasting impression on you. This chapter does exactly that – it captures the rise and fall of the Vandipettai market, along with the stories of the people who made it what it was. It’s a truly captivating read.
  3. The novel explores Devaraj’s relationships with women throughout his life. We see this theme play out in Naomi, Joslyn, Vanarani and RangaNayagi – relationships filled with hope, and a brief encounter with an unnamed lady in Madurai. The stark contrast between experiences with Naomi and the Madurai lady leaves a lasting impression on the reader. It’s interesting to see how Devaraj, despite facing limitations in his life, might subconsciously expect certain qualities from his partners. However, it’s important to remember that limitations shouldn’t dictate expectations. Just because someone faces challenges doesn’t mean they can’t have desires, and general human nature plays a role. This point is tragically mirrored by a real-world incident: a worker, enraged by a woman refusing service due to his race, ended up taking her life. This horrifying event reminds us that limitations shouldn’t justify prejudice.

Conclusion

What truly elevates Nimittam is its exploration of human relationships. The way the story unfolds through different characters, allows us to experience a rich tapestry of connection, rejection, and hope. Overall, it’s a deeply satisfying read that leaves a lasting impression.

Democratizing Democracy: Why “Everything is Politics” in India

Pandian Ramaiah 16 Comments

We stained our finger; our public walls are postered. The excitement is building for India’s upcoming democratic milestone on June 4th!

Indian democracy is a vibrant, messy, and sometimes frustrating thing. We celebrate its triumphs – peaceful transitions of power, a robust free press – but also grapple with its shortcomings – corruption, dynastic politics, and inefficient public services.

This post fits right into the spirit of “Everything is Politics” because democracy isn’t just about voting every few years. It’s about holding our leaders accountable, demanding better from our systems, and constantly striving to improve.

The Power is politics

Democracy empowers the common man. Recall the famous Tamil song by Vaali, written for legendary TN actor-turned-politician MG Ramachandran. The song quotes the words of another TN politician, Annadurai, who declared: ‘In a democracy, we are all kings.’?

It’s this collective power that keeps the system in check. We all knew that. But that collective power is being manipulated or entertained by several factors, such as unsustainable appeasement schemes, media management, diverting the attention, politicizing the criticisms.

The power of the voters is undeniable. In Tamil Nadu, for instance, we witnessed a powerful display of this force in 1996. Voters decisively ousted the then-ruling AIADMK party, led by J. Jayalalithaa, after a period of perceived corruption and authoritarian rule. This decision sent a clear message that no leader is invincible, and the power ultimately lies with the people. However, the story doesn’t end there.

Ironically, in the 2006 elections, voters brought the AIADMK party back to power under Jayalalithaa again. I need to mention that the DMK rule was after Jayalalitha-I disaster was mostly a better one. Even it was appreciated by DMK critics like Cho Ramasamy.

While this might seem contradictory, it highlights the complexity of democracy. Voters may choose to give a leader another chance, hoping for improvement, or perhaps there’s a lack of strong alternatives. Sometimes they just want a change for no reason! This cycle in democratic politics emphasizes the ongoing responsibility of the electorate to be discerning and engaged.

Democratic Dynasties are politics

While strolling through Tissamaharama, a town in southern Sri Lanka, I noticed a curious sight. Daily calendars in shops, large and small, featured the face of a prominent Sri Lankan politician. This wasn’t just any politician; he belonged to a powerful ‘democratic dynasty’ that had dominated the region for years. My visit predated the country’s recent economic collapse.

Back then, the world watched with growing concern as this leader’s influence seemed to tighten. Locals, however, expressed a sense of pride, boasting about his “majority” status in the area. It left me questioning their definition of pride. Ironically, it was the very people who later took matters into their own hands, ousting this same family from power.

The fate of the shop owners with their political calendars remains unknown. Sri Lanka is gearing up for presidential elections, and it wouldn’t surprise me if this very dynasty attempted a comeback.

These ‘democratic dynasties’ understand the power of those commoners. So, they politicize them by offering appeasement schemes, media management (we call that as free media in India!) at the cost of growth of the society.

These exemplify the unpredictable potent, yet manipulated, power of the common people.

Dynastic politics, where power runs in families, weakens this power dynamic. It can create a sense of entitlement among leaders and stifle competition. But here’s the political angle: Indian ‘democratic dynasties’ often use sophisticated and biased internal elections to maintain control and label themselves as democrats. It’s up to us, the voters, to demand more transparency and hold them accountable.

Democratic Disappointment is politics

Can we, as Indians, have an honest conversation about how well our democracy holds leaders accountable? Should our love for India (nationalism) or our political beliefs (democrat) stop us from having this discussion?

China in a curious way despite not having a democracy in the political sense has a very high sense of accountability on the part of his leaders that isn’t so for all authoritarian regimes, but it is so for China, and they have created a culture of accountability….

One of the Southeast Asian Leader, said in an interview in 45th St. Gallen Symposium.

Does our democracy make sure leaders are answerable for their actions? Can we achieve this in the future?

Shouldn’t a democracy provide basic things like a steady electricity supply all the time? I get free electricity of 100 units in TN, but it keeps going off! My friend says some people need the free power more, but I need reliable power too! Is this democracy okay if it cuts off power when I need it most? – assume the power goes off while I grind chutney in my busy mornings. He says the state is responsible, not the central government, but isn’t that all part of democracy?

The electors should not allow the Indian democracy to make all sorts of fake promises, which it don’t follow through. We should refute democracy that allows lies to form a government.

Poor public services are politics

Many people talk about this issue – a major weakness of Indian democracy. It seems like there are two sides to our democracy. Every five years, it comes to us with promises and seems friendly, almost like a beggar asking for your vote. But for the next five years, it can feel distant and unhelpful.

A patriotic citizen has choices like government sponsored schools, hospital or clinic, electricity, water, or gas. These services either do not change or deteriorated in last three decades years.

Maybe it’s a common way of thinking in India that we deserve low-quality services. Not only in politics, but also in every task we work. I admit, I’m guilty of it too! The sad part is, sometimes we even think offering bad service is a favor. But who will tell us that in a democracy, it’s our duty to expect – at least – decent services, not the worst?

Our democracy takes a big chunk of our income through taxes, yet we often have to make our own arrangements for things like education, healthcare, and even basic utilities. All it seems to offer in return is the freedom to speak our minds. Is this really enough for us to keep protecting this system?

If you challenge them, you’ll see the power of democracy in action. They might yell, insult you, or even try to label you based on religion, caste or political views. It happens in both center and states.

Beyond Criticism, Towards Progress

Let’s not shy away from criticizing our democracy. But let’s also acknowledge its achievements. We’ve had peaceful transitions of power for decades, a feat many nations haven’t achieved.

Here’s the political reality: India’s global partnerships depend on a stable and accountable democracy, though India’s stability is not in agenda of west democratic interests. Criticism isn’t about weakening India; it’s about making it stronger.

Conclusion: Democratizing Democracy

“Everything is Politics” because a functioning democracy requires constant participation. We need to hold leaders accountable, demand better public services, and actively engage in the political process. This isn’t about being blind democrats or nationalists; it’s about striving for a better, more responsive democracy that truly serves the people.

We deserve a better society, and our society deserves a better version of us.

—

This post is a part of ‘Everything is Politics Blog Hop’ hosted by Manali Desai and Sukaina Majeed.

Zape of Spice, Zing of Love | Whispers on the Train 26

Pandian Ramaiah 11 Comments

Recap: Jyoti, the cheerful food vendor, always brightened Jayanthan’s day at the Poongudi train stop. But their love hit a wall. Her brother wouldn’t approve, and Jayanthan even struggling for a better job in the city. Just as hope faded, Jyoti’s brother, without her consent, set her wedding with someone else. This made Jayanthan to fight for his love, ultimately succeeding with the support of well-wishers.…

Part 3: Final whistle

Chapter 26/26: Zape of Spice, Zing of Love

Mrs. Mangalam caught Thangamma’s hands and conversed with her privately for a long time inside the house before taking leave.

As she reached the doorway, Thangamma noticed Karuna slipping out of the compound. “Where are you off to?” she called after him. But Karuna was already muttering under his breath, “The post office. I need to call the other groom’s family. They shouldn’t come here and make things even more embarrassing.” He rushed off without waiting for a reply. Thangamma offered a silent nod, a secret smile playing on her lips as she met Mrs. Mangalam’s gaze.

“Men,” Ahmed chuckled, his voice dripping with a mock seriousness “are like cobras before marriage, all hiss and threat. But after? Just spineless worms, wouldn’t you agree, Jyoti?” Just as Jyoti’s eyebrow twitched, Ahmed, sensing her disapproval, swiftly changed tack. “Well,” he boomed, nudging Rajan playfully, “In this chaos, Rajan’s love life can’t be left to chance, can it?” Ahmed said with a nudge, when the gang settled on the raised verandah. “Time for us find him the perfect partner!”

Rajan shot him a mock glare. “Shut up, Ahmed. Give the Jayanthan and Jyoti some breathing space.”

Mrs. Mangalam, ever the pragmatist, chuckled. “Don’t worry, Rajan. Someone else will replace Jyoti to feed the passengers. And who knows, they might even be suitable bride material for you.”

Jyoti, who had just joined Mrs. Mangalam, added with a laugh, “Ya, there are so many other train stations too. Rajan anna has plenty of choice.”

Rajan swatted playfully at Ahmed’s arm. “Everything’s because of you, you walking stomach! Can’t keep your mouth shut and your belly satisfied at the same time, can you? But seriously, Jyoti, you’re a lifesaver. We can’t have another train journey without your delicious food.”

As we continued our banter, a familiar rumble echoed in the distance. The morning-passenger-train, adorned with vibrant colors, chugged past, its horn blaring a joyous melody. Jyoti and I exchanged a knowing smile, the sound a reminder of our unconventional beginnings and the journey we had just begun.

The train, a symbol of both separation and connection, roared away, leaving behind a trail of laughter and the promise of a future filled with love, resilience, and perhaps even a few spice-infused adventures along the way.

The End

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Yardstick of Courage | Whispers on the Train 25

Pandian Ramaiah 10 Comments

Recap: Jyoti, the cheerful food vendor, always brightened Jayanthan’s day at the Poongudi train stop. But their love hit a wall. Her brother wouldn’t approve, and Jayanthan even struggling for a better job in the city. Just as hope faded, Jyoti’s brother, without her consent, set her wedding with someone else. This made Jayanthan fight for their love…

Part 3: Final whistle

Chapter 25/26: Yardstick of courage

The commotion drew the grandmother, her steps measured as she approached. Her eyes scanned me, then settled on Mrs. Mangalam. “His mother?” she inquired, her voice laced with curiosity. Her thandatti earring, flowed gracefully behind her.

Mrs. Mangalam stepped forward, a glint in her eye. “Me? We all wear different hats in life, don’t we? Let me wear this one too. Not just for him, but for both of them.”

The old woman’s brow furrowed in confusion. “If you accept, her real mother will come,” Mrs Mangalam declared.

Keerthivasan, seizing the opportunity, came in, later introduced himself as a lawyer, explained her the situation calmly, his voice a soothing balm on the tense atmosphere.

Karuna, his face stormy with stubborn defiance, bellowed, “What are you doing here? We were having a discussion!”

The old woman, her voice weak but laced with surprising firmness, cut through the tension. “This is their choice, sir,” she addressed Keerthivasan, her gaze politely but firmly bypassing Karuna’s outburst. “If the girl agrees, no one can stop her. He clearly being unfair and rude, that’s his nature” she added, her voice a faint challenge directed at Karuna. “Are we truly going to threaten a grown woman? That will only push her away.”

Her gaze landed on Thangamma with a weak but determined nod. “Bring her out, let her have her say.” A bony finger, surprisingly steady despite her age, pointed towards me. “This nonsense ends now. If she refuses,” her voice dropped to a weak but icy tone, “you leave immediately. Otherwise, I’m afraid I’ll have to make Karuna fulfill his obligations.”

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Would she dare? Would she defy the expectations, fear for her brother, the societal pressures, to choose love?

As Thangamma ushered Jyoti forward, a hush fell over the small gathering. Footsteps. My breath hitched. Jyoti appeared in the doorway, eyes lowered, her hand resting on the jamb.

The parrot swooped overhead, landing on the thatched roof with a clatter of wings.

Tears welled up in my eyes. Here she was, the one I’d searched for tirelessly on Poongudi’s streets and deserted train platforms, my heart heavy, my thoughts a jumbled mess. This was the face I longed to see when loneliness gnawed at me in my bachelor room back home.

My pillows and blankets held the silent tears I cried for Jyoti. Nightmares mocked my every weakness, especially my inability to keep my promise of offering her a helping hand before she drowned.

Her downcast eyes mirrored the Padmapani of Ajanta, its usual compassion replaced by worry. But there were no tears. Her once flushed cheeks sported a dark rash that framed her sorrowful eyes. The toll, this separation had taken on her, was evident. Love, how ruthlessly it could steal everything! Uncontrollable tears welled up, blurring my vision. While I wiped them discreetly, I heard it.

“I love him,” she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute. “I can’t live without him.”

The tension shattered. The world around us dissolved into a burst of emotions, as vibrant and varied as the shades of a Kandangi saree. Relief washed over me like a tidal wave, leaving me weak and breathless. A collective sigh of relief escaped the handful of observers, drowning out Jyoti’s brother’s protests. The old woman smiled, a silent nod of approval.

Suddenly, Karuna lunged forward, his face contorted in rage. “No!” he roared, reaching for Jyoti. But before he could touch her, Thangamma intervened, her voice booming with authority. “Step back, please. This is their choice, and they’ve spoken.”

Karuna’s defiance sputtered out. The witnesses roared their approval, their voices echoing Thangamma’s unwavering stance. My boss, Mrs. Mangalam, squeezed my shoulder, her pride evident. Mr. Keerthivasan tried to calm Karuna further, but his posture was noticeably relaxed. Jyoti, standing tall beside Thangamma, finally allowed a hopeful smile to grace her lips.

Thangamma stood firm, her expression unreadable yet her presence radiating power. A few steps away, Mrs. Mangalam’s gaze met hers, a grateful smile softening the corners of her lips. It was a silent exchange, speaking volumes of unspoken thanks and unspoken admiration. These two strong women dominated the scene. Their silent language, a shared understanding, made me recall Jyoti’s earlier hope for the two guardian angels, the Kannimars. Could Jyoti have been the one pulling the strings all along, like a puppeteer controlling us? The thought struck me with a jolt.

As Jyoti met my gaze, finally, a soul-deep love washed over me, threatening to engulf us entirely. Her determined eyes, locked onto mine, which was glistening with tears. The invisible distance between us seemed to shrink with each silent beat of our hearts, as if our souls reached out to caress each other in the open air.

A single tear, not of fear this time but of overflowing happiness, welled up in Jyoti’s lower eyelid. It didn’t trace a path down her cheek, but instead, plopped silently onto the doorsteps.

Just then, the parrot squawked, “Ayo it is so blushing for me yeh!” It took flight, soaring diagonally against the rising sun. Its screech, “Kreeyeh.. Kreeyeh..,” echoed repeatedly across the summer sky.

(To be continued)

I’m participating in #BlogchatterA2Z 2024

X marks the Matriarch | Whispers on the Train 24

Pandian Ramaiah 13 Comments

Recap: Jyoti, the cheerful food vendor, always brightened Jayanthan’s day at the Poongudi train stop. But their love hit a wall. Her brother wouldn’t approve, and Jayanthan even struggling for a better job in the city. Just as hope faded, Jyoti’s brother, without her consent, set her wedding with someone else. This made Jayanthan fight for their love.…

Part 3: Final whistle

Chapter 24/26: X marks the Matriarch.

Mrs. Mangalam bristled at Karuna’s words. “This is an auspicious day, Karuna! Don’t utter such negativity. This is a matter of Jyoti’s happiness, and shutting them out won’t solve anything.”

Karuna scoffed. “Happiness? You, of all people, care about them? We raised Jyoti! We know what’s best for her. You, the one who brought them together, suddenly champion their cause?”

Before anyone could respond, the hut door slammed open. Thangamma, Karuna’s wife, stormed out, her eyes blazing with a fury I’d only heard described from Jyoti.

“How dare you!” she snapped, her voice cracking like a whip. “Have you lost your mind? How can you disrespect someone older, a woman at that? This anger blinds you, leading you to make terrible decisions, one after another!”

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Karuna’s face flushed crimson under the scrutiny.

Thangamma’s tirade continued, her voice gaining momentum. “Who are you to dictate Jyoti’s life without her consent? Why do men always think they own women’s happiness?”

She turned to Karuna, her gaze unwavering. “Is this how you treat your own sister, huh? Shouldn’t these discussions be private? I, an outsider, came here to protect her, but you, her blood, couldn’t care less. What kind of brother are you?”

Karuna’s hand twitched, his face contorted with a mix of anger and shame. He raised his hand as if to strike, but the watchful eyes of the crowd held him back.

Undeterred, Thangamma pressed on. “Do you want to slap me? What else can a man do when his wife exposes his flawed reasoning? Will you ever change? Can a family that disrespects its women ever truly prosper? I’ll bear the burden, but I won’t let another woman in this family suffer, like me.”

Fueled by righteous anger, her hands moved with practiced ease, gathering the strands of hair that had come loose in the heat of the moment. With a swift twist and a sharp tug, she secured them in a tight bun, a gesture mirroring her fierce determination to protect her chicks from an eagle.

A piercing screech from a nearby parrot startled me, jolting Thangamma back to reality. She took a deep breath, perhaps to regain her composure.

A piercing screech from a nearby parrot startled me, jolting Thangamma back to reality. She took a deep breath, perhaps to regain her composure. In that fleeting moment, her eyes met Mrs. Mangalam’s in a silent exchange.

Her voice softened slightly, but her resolve remained firm. “Tell me,” She echoed Mrs. Mangalam’s sentiment, “would you push your sister into a loveless marriage just to appease your ego? Would you deny her a chance at happiness because it’s inconvenient for you?”

Karuna muttered a defense. “Of course I care for her. I raised her. Who should she marry? Isn’t it my right to protect her?” A flicker of doubt betrayed his bravado. “Why am I seen as villain for protecting my family?”

Thangamma countered, her voice sharp. “Protect her, yes, but from genuine threats, not from love. You take charge like her sole guardian, but what about me, who fills the role of her mother? Don’t I deserve a say? Whenever I bring this up, you shut me out and lash out at him. Do you reject this proposal simply because you don’t like him?”

Mrs. Mangalam intervened. “Karuna, I understand your concern. He seems like a good man from a good family. He’ll likely achieve a respectable position and care for Jyoti.”

The scene resembled two mother bison, fierce and protective, charging a tiger to save a vulnerable calf from its clutches.

Thangamma wasn’t finished. “How long will they wait to elope if we keep them apart? Ask him,” she pointed at Mr. Keerthivasan, “he can arrange the legalities. What will you do then? Just think why Jyoti forced this boy to come and plead with you. Couldn’t you have received them cordially?”

Karuna faltered, the anger in his eyes replaced by a flicker of doubt. He glanced at his wife, then at the crowd, their faces mirroring his growing uncertainty. The scene hung heavy, anticipation thick in the air. This was a battle between love and ego, respect and control. And at the center stood Jyoti, her fate hinging on her own voice, her own choice.

The mother hen had ruffled her feathers, and the fight was far from over.

(To be continued)

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Whispered Rebellion | Whispers on the Train 23

Pandian Ramaiah 13 Comments

Recap: Jayanthan’s train rattled into Poongudi, the stop before Trichy. Every day, Jyoti, a dazzling food vendor, filled his heart with a smile. Yet, their love faced hurdles. Her brother disapproved, and then Jayanthan lost his job, his struggle in migrated place, their dreams dimming. Just when things felt hopeless, Jyoti vanished. Suddenly, Mangalam, a mutual friend, appeared with urgent news…

Part 3: Final whistle

Chapter 23/26: Whispered Rebellion

Poongudi’s transformation was startling. Gone were the snow and rain’s whispers, replaced by an unsettling silence. The once-lush green paddy fields were empty, their crops harvested. Crows, like condemning black-flags, sat on electric poles, surveying the deserted land. The river, once a flowing stream, was dried up, with sunlight bouncing off the pebbles. Only the neem and konnai – the golden shower trees – dared to show any green against the pale-yellow canvas.

We drove to the southern edge of Poongudi, in search of Jyoti’s house. Unlike the bustling center, this was a place apart – a scattering of houses, marooned in a sea of emptied paddy fields, with only a dusty path for company. When the path almost disappeared, we left our car and walked on dried grasses. The ruthless summer had claimed its victims – empty snail shells, millipedes, and the hermit crabs – known as caṅku pūcci-, all testaments to the harshness of the season. This path should be like a green snake during the monsoon, but was now a dusty trail, punctuated by the occasional sprightly erukku – the crown flower- plant, a reminder of the farm’s seasonal slumber.

Ahmed, burdened by the weight of the impending confrontation, wheezed slightly with each step. Rajan chewed on a long trunk of a grass, a nervous habit. Cyclists and moped riders who crossed our path cast curious glances, our presence an anomaly in this desolate landscape. The only soundtrack was the mournful cry of a distant mynah.

Jyoti’s house finally came into view – a humble structure with a tiled roof in the back, fronted by a welcoming extension of woven palmyra leaves. Long palm trunks, secured against the wind, lay stacked on top. Withered creepers – of a once-vigorous bottle gourd plant – sprawled across the palmyra leaves, reaching all the way to the roof. The entrance, sparkling clean from a recent scrubbing with water and cow dung, stood out against the parched backdrop. A meticulously drawn kolam, a geometric pattern made with rice flour, added a touch of vibrancy. A large well, likely the lifeblood of their farming activities, sat at the back.

The sight of the house should have brought relief. This was where Jyoti resided. Yet, a cold dread coiled in my stomach, the air thick with unspoken tension. My legs, heavy with apprehension, mirrored Mr. and Mrs. Keerthivasan’s steps as we approached the rickety wooden door.

Karuna was the first to spot us approaching the house. He paused in mid-brush, his initial surprise morphing into a scowl as he took in the unexpected visitors. His gaze flicked from Mr. Keerthivasan, dressed far too casually for a formal occasion, to Mrs. Mangalam and then to me. Recognition dawned on him slowly, a cold understanding replacing his initial confusion.

“Ah, you again?” he spat, his voice laced with venom. “That little demon! Did she invite you all to ruin the engagement? This isn’t funny, you know! Your little plan isn’t going to work!”

We remained silent, pressing on towards the entrance.

“Seriously? Didn’t you hear a word I said?” Karuna advanced, his voice rising.

“Calm down, brother,” Mr. Keerthivasan said calmly, even though I felt angry inside. “Let’s go inside and talk about this.”

Karuna scoffed. “Talk? About what? Stealing my sister on the day of her engagement?”

Fury surged through me before I could contain it. “Jyoti isn’t property to steal, Karuna!” I exploded. “We’re in love! We want to get married, and you knew that! Don’t act like you don’t!” Declaring our love felt strangely out of place amidst the growing crowd.

My outburst drew an old woman, presumably Jyoti’s grandmother, out of the house. She squinted at us, her hand raised to shield her eyes. The thandatti, the traditional earring, glinted in her elongated earlobe.

“There’s no point in talking if you don’t understand,” Karuna said, his voice laced with threat. “Like last time, if I have to slap you twice and chase you away with your supporters, I will!” He lunged forward, a hand outstretched to grab my shirt.

The grandmother’s voice, tired and aged, cut through the tension. “Karuna, let them in. We need to talk and understand what’s going on.”

Karuna’s eyes, burning with fury, mirrored the fiery red of twin kovāpaḻam, the ripe fruits of the ivy gourd. “Understand?” he spat. “Understand what? They’re here to cause trouble on her engagement day, to humiliate me in front of the groom’s family! Look, if you interrupt again, I’ll step on your neck and …” He wagged his finger at his grandmother, his teeth bared in a silent threat.”

(To be continued)

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Vanishing Tracks | Whispers on the Train 22

Pandian Ramaiah 12 Comments

Recap: Every day, Jayanthan’s train rumbled into Poongudi, gateway to Trichy. Jyoti, a vibrant food vendor, stole his heart with each stop. But love faced challenges – her brother, his job loss – dimming their hopeful spark.

Part 3: Final whistle

Chapter 22/26: Unshed Tears

The office phone buzzed, interrupting my walk back from lunch. The receptionist, staring down at a notebook, mumbled, “Jayanthan, someone called you…” My heart lurched. This is strange. Only my parents and Mrs. Mangalam have this number, and I’m always the one calling them. Why are they calling me now? “Who?”

He scanned his call record again. “Jyoti,” he repeated, more to the notebook than me. Curiosity bothered me. “When? Did she leave a message? What number can I call back?”. He intercepted me, a strange glint in his eyes “wait. wait. One by one, please. But no message.” With a disappointment ballooning in my mind, I asked him to get her number, if she called back and I was not around.

“I’m not your personal switchboard operator,” he grumbled before flashing a grin. “Just kidding, man. Will do.”

Few minutes later, the lobby intercom crackled to life. “Jayanthan?” I raced to answer. “Jyoti?”

The landline phone felt scorching against my ear. Mrs. Mangalam’s voice, laced with panic, scratched through the line. “Jayanthan, it’s Mangalam! I know you’re probably busy at work, but can you come here right away? I think this is important.” My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat echoing in the suburban night’s stillness.

“Amma, what’s wrong? it seems Jyoti called me. I missed it.”

“I know, she called me too. But we can talk in person.”

I sprinted to catch the train. The journey, once a symbol of shared moments, now felt like a cruel twist of fate, keeping us apart when we needed each other most. Sleep was a stranger, chased away by a relentless barrage of anxieties and terrifying possibilities.

Jyoti. Her name echoed in my mind, each syllable a silent plea. The girl whose laughter filled train rides, the girl whose eyes held the promise of a future we dreamt of together, the girl whose hand is to be captured, before she drowns – she was in danger. Panic choked me, leaving me breathless.

During our conversation, I hesitantly confessed my secret trips to Poongudi. I blurted out my fear that Jyoti might already be married.

“I already knew, dear. Don’t worry about it. But Jayanthan, you really need to learn who you can confide in and who might not have your best interests at heart.” she said, her voice devoid of anger.

Shame washed over me for keeping her in the dark. “Your visit changed things for both of you,” she sighed. “We can’t control everything. Whatever happens, it has a reason,” she consoled herself. Did she know already? How could she? I never got a chance to ask. But with the urgency hanging in the air, a full conversation would have been a luxury.

Morning arrived, slow and agonizing. As the Cauvery bridge came into view, a short distance from Trichy station, my heart pounded.

Trichy station, usually bustling with steaming tea vendors shouting “Tea! Kaapi! Tea! Kaapi!” and chattering crowds, now felt cold and sterile. The morning sun, normally painting the platform in a warm glow, cast harsh, unsettling rays. Ahmed and Rajan, my usual train station buddies, stood silent, worry engraved on their faces. Their hurried waves did little to ease the gnawing fear in my stomach.

Mrs. Mangalam and her lawyer husband, Keerthivasan, waited by a van, their faces etched with grim determination. His presence, a stark reminder of the battle ahead, only amplified the weight of the situation.

Sliding into the van, the familiar creak of the door brought no comfort. The engine’s usual reassuring rumble was replaced by a deafening silence.

“Her family, her brother specifically, is forcing her into marriage. The groom’s side is arriving today at ten to finalize the date. She wanted me to do something.” Mrs. Mangalam explained, her voice sounded unpleasant.

The words slammed into me. what? So, the market guy lied and mocked me, as I guessed. In a corner, I felt happy because the door is still open. At the same time, she was about to be taken away in few hours, how to prevent it? Panic clawed at my throat, leaving me breathless.

Sensing it, Keerthivasan said “We have a plan, Jayanthan,” his usually cheerful voice was somber. His gaze fixed on me. “It’s a bit risky, but don’t worry.”

His words echoed in the silence, each syllable pounding against my already fractured heart. A plan? Risky? My mind, reeling from the month’s events, struggled to grasp the next step.

“Do not threaten him”, Mrs Mangalam came in. “Everything will be all right” she pacified me.

“We have to get there before them,” Keerthivasan’s voice cut through my fog.

(To be continued)

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